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I have to start now to pursue the rest of me. I can’t stand to see someone offering themselves, and my having to deal with this fucking body. I am beautiful! It hurts me too much to encourage them, or to even notice their attentions to me. I realize that I don’t even give potential lovers a second glance, or encourage even the slightest any men who are attracted to me. It seems so foreign to me when I see how free + open everyone around me is with their bodies. I’ve tried to learn to live without affection, but I can feel it eating me from inside. But I have to keep it on such a platonic superficial level. I look in the mirror + see this fucking beautiful guy looking back at me + I see other men smiling at me + almost reaching out. I am so tired of trying NOT to be sexual. I guess I knew sooner or later it would creep up on me but this last week or so I’ve really come to the end of my rope trying to deal with being a twin in my body. Ellis Martin and Zach Ozma, editors of We Both Laughed in Pleasure

In his new relationships with men (friends, neighbors, lovers, strangers), he was finding intimacy and acceptance. He was considering his surgical options, falling in love with the friend of a neighbor. Lou had just moved into a new building where no one knew he was trans. This excerpt is from the early 1980s during a time when Lou was living in San Francisco’s Mission District. His informal writing is familiar, like texts from a close friend about a new crush.

Raised Catholic, he more than once compared his partners to God. He took his name from Lou Reed, rode a motorcycle, frequented beatnik bars, frequented gay bars, wore an opal ring. He liked when drag queens called him “Butch,” soft tufts of hair on a man’s unshaven cheek, and cream and sugar in his coffee. From the poetry of Algernon Charles Swinburne to his Jockey shorts, Lou was particular yet varied in his tastes. Lou braided contemporary and past cultural iconography to form an identity he didn’t see articulated in any one singular source. Instead, we selected moments of his evolving relationships, selfhood, and ways of living. We didn’t attempt to encompass the full breadth of Lou’s journaling. Since we already knew the end of Lou’s story, we edited this volume to ensure that the sadness of his premature death didn’t overshadow his life. Born in Milwaukee in 1951, Lou journaled from age 11 until his AIDS-related death in San Francisco in 1991. Lou was a writer, activist, typesetter, trans historian, and queer revolutionary. The following is an excerpt from We Both Laughed in Pleasure: The Selected Diaries of Lou Sullivan.